


Intersection

by JoAsakura



Series: Sunbreaker: The Book of Mouse [6]
Category: Destiny (Video Games)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-19
Updated: 2019-02-19
Packaged: 2019-10-31 09:51:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,540
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17847146
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JoAsakura/pseuds/JoAsakura
Summary: Two moments where Mouse's past intersects with others.





	Intersection

_1: DISTRIBUTARY_

There is an unspoken hierarchy among the Awoken, even in this modern age of burgeoning stellar exploration, Jalaal thinks as he squints up at the winking lights in low orbit, the Hulls for Mara’s impossible expedition coming to life.

Jalaal is of the Forty Thousand, but unlike some, he never had much desire to crawl back up the Worldline back to Earth. He _was_ an explorer, after all.  But Mara was persuasive, and Jalaal is an explorer, after all. And her expedition needs engineers and mechanics.

Even though he’s been Awoken more centuries than he can reliably count, he’s always slightly unsettled when faced with one of the 891.  There is something about the ones who faced the end and the beginning of the universe with eyes open that he can’t quantify, something… well, not _inhuman_ , specifically, but the analogy stands. There is a world full of generations Awoken now, but the 891 stand like gods and heroes and ghosts in their legends.

Coffees balanced in his hands, he hip-checks the door open to be greeted by the heavy bass of some new wave metal.  The sensorium displays are covered with a hundred ecological disaster scenarios, and in the middle of the floor, a disheveled, violet-haired man lays sprawled, staring at all of them at once.

“I brought you coffee,” Jalaal nudges the man with his foot and wrinkles his nose. “When was the last time you showered?”

“What day is it?”

“…Thursday,” Jalaal quirks an eyebrow.

“Then, _Thursday_. A… Thursday. At some point,” Bevan Tar of the 891 says, feebly wagging a hand at the other man. “Coffee. _Give_.”

“You’re a disgrace,” the mechanic says, holding the coffee just out of reach until Bevan sits up to grab it. “What are you doing?”

“Wargaming,” Bevan says, clutching the coffee to his chest, green eyes narrowing to luminous slits in the dim room.  “We won’t have the luxury of coming back to get supplies, so we need to provide for a bunch of variables, from total biome collapse to moderate de-speciation, not to mention any immediate work we need to do to set up a reliable FOB.”

“So, answer me something,” Jalaal sits on the edge of the desk as Bevan’s systems continue to compile lists of necessary materials.

“Only if you promise me the gene libraries are going to be protected,” Bevan says, taking sip.

“They’re going to be in the core of the hulls, an extra layer of fluid shielding, plasma grids, everything we’ve got.  I’ve never had to build anything that had to withstand a wormhole before, but even if the Hulls get vaporized , your gene-weavers are gonna come through and confound generations to come.”

“I live for confounding future generations, so good,” Bevan yawns hugely, scratching through his beard. Then he fixes those green eyes on Jalaal and the mechanic feels a shiver down his spine. “What did you want me to answer?”

“Why are you going on this mission?” Jalaal asks, suddenly unsure of the asking. He and Bevan Tar are not friends, not exactly, but the biologist has always been kind to him. 

There’s a beat of silence, and for a moment, the weight of eternity sits across the other man’s face. “Distributary doesn’t really need me anymore,” Bevan says suddenly, a smile curling across his face. “I helped build our first farms, but there are a lot of kids born since then that are so much more clever than I could ever be. If Mara’s right, Earth needs my skills more than Distributary does. Maybe I can help save our cousins.”

“And if she’s wrong?” Jalaal takes a long sip of his own cooling coffee, suddenly uncomfortable with the question. Across from him, heavy metal thudding against the walls, Bevan’s face grows distant, and he knows he’s looking at a creature who stared the end of the world right in the eyes. “Bevan?”

“If she’s… _wrong_ , then, there are others that are going to need my help,” he says grimly.

And Jalaal thinks he does not want to be on the bad side of that hard, green gaze.

 

 

_2: THE REEF_

 

Uldren is knee deep in scouting reports when the door to Life Sciences slams open, thudding bassline spilling out into the hallway.  It’s immediately followed by a lanky, white-haired man skidding out after him in a flutter of lab gear. “SOV! THERE YOU ARE!”

The Gensym Scribe’s pale blue skin is almost magenta, and Uldren swears he can see a vein pulsing in Asher’s forehead. “Asher Mir,” he lifts his chin, he is after all, still not only Mara’s brother, but also the head of Expedition Security and Intelligence. “What can I do for you?”

“You can rein in that purple barbarian, is what!” Asher vibrates. “Do you hear that caterwauling in there?” He stabs a finger back into the lab. “I told him to take his so-called music with him when he went on his field check, so the rest of us could work in peace and do you know what that… that… _animal_ did? HE LOCKED THE LAB’S AUDIO CONTROLS!”

Uldren takes a deep breath and peers past Asher to the lab’s wide windows, overlooking the sprawl of Habitat One. Along the length of the greenhouse, a figure in a protective suit dances in time to the beat as he occasionally adjusts one of the starlight collectors, and he pinches the bridge of his nose.  “I’ll see what I can do, just for you, Scribe.”

In the confines of his own suit, Uldren pushes off from the dock with the tether unspooling behind him, and he thinks of a tree with gleaming purple bark and panicles of white flowers. It opens up the private link to Bevan’s comms, and he’s immediately greeted by his husband gleefully rapping along with the lyrics as he dances.

“Hey, we need to talk,” Uldren tries, but Bevan does a low-g twirl around him to make a miniscule adjustment to one of the collectors. Uldren watches him move, always a little surprised at his grace, until he passes close again, and catches him by the waist, pulling him close. “Bevan, did you seriously lock Asher out of the lab’s audio systems?”

“Has he exploded yet? I’m running an experiment,” Bevan hooks a leg around Uldren’s as they float near the greenhouse.

“You’re especially cheeky today, what did I miss?” Uldren asks, gently touching his faceplate to Bevan’s.

“I’m finally feeling confident we’re not going to starve to death or die of asphyxiation before we get back to Earth, it’s making me giddy,” Bevan laughs.  “Driving Asher nuts is just a small, extra pleasure.”

“Well, he’s going to murder you in your sleep if you keep tormenting him, Bev,” Uldren slid his hand down Bevan’s back. “Skies, you’re beautiful when you smile, you know that? I very much want to kiss that smiling mouth of yours.”

“I know we’re durable, but still I’m not convinced we’ll survive a hard vacuum makeout,” Bevan murmurs, closing the miniscule spaces between them. “But I could be convinced to come back inside and turn off the music in the lab for the right incentive.”

“Put a pin in that. I’m taking a threat assessment expedition to Mars in an hour,” Uldren gives the firm curve of muscle in his hand a little squeeze. “But I’m all yours after I get back and debrief Mara.”

“Mars, you’re going to _Mars_ ,” Bevan’s green eyes go wide. “I can have the ecological response team assembled in fifteen. You said initial flybys showed it had been depopulated completely, but if we can get on the surface and do some research, maybe see if any of the old warmind systems are still salvageable, we could get some hard data on what happened and…”

“No,” Uldren’s hands tighten on him. “The system is crawling with scavengers, that’s a known fact. There is no way I’m bringing a bunch of eutechs into a potential firefight.”

“I can handle myself in fight, you know,” Bevan’s shoulders twitch as he pushes back a little bit.

“No,” Uldren lets him go, a little rougher than he’d intended and they float there in the gloom. “Bev, you’re too valuable an asset. Mara’s been very clear that I’m just to be leading intelligence teams into the inner system for now. You’ll get your chance.”

“If I didn’t know any better, I’d say _your sister_ intended to keep us here,” Bevan releases his tether and gives himself a tiny gravimetric push towards the dock.

“Don’t start. I can’t stop Sjur from trying to rip your head off if she thinks you and Mara are going to get into it again,” Uldren mutters, following. “You need to trust Mara’s plan, love. You’ve come this far already.”

Bevan’s boots clamp onto the dock, silent in the vacuum, but sending a tremble through the metal. “I just hope she’s right,” he says, then glances back to the lab where Asher Mir is yelling obscenities through the window.

With a sigh, he thinks of an anvil, and he can see the exact moment the volume adjustment takes place as the scribe starts to gesticulate furiously at him. It doesn't help the feeling in his guts.

 

 


End file.
